The Last Candle

I think this August ranks up there in my life as one of the most busy and action- and adventure-packed months in the duration of my curly-headed existence — for those of you who suspect curlers were involved somewhere along the line, here’s an easier graph: 24 straight years of Rome. <p/> But yes, a terrific month: as the outstanding event, there was both a lovely wedding for my old and excellent friend Ben, and a bachelor’s party to match. <p/> The setting of the bachelor’s party was not 200 yards from I-131 south out of Grand Rapids. The constant blunder of vehicles down the highway didn’t stop us from bringing out the artillery, and the evening consisted of four hours of firing potatoes and apples from the PVC tips of spud guns, blasting black powder out of a teeny but incredibly and awesomely loud cannon, and taking in a very healthy amount of liquid bread. The number of times that Dennis, one of my pals at the party, fired off a shotgun-style array of apples into the nearby barn and silos, or blasted a potato or appleshot volley less than a foot from my head were countless; the beers drank were many (and the number of falling-down drunks: one); and the good times innumerable. <p/> The wedding was one of those church things where everyone looks so pleasant and plush and joyous — vows, lovebirds and lovebands, and all that. In a deft move that would have made Vidal Sasson jealous at its cunning, I wore a tie that matched the color of the bridemaids’ dresses. I also did a little ushering along the side, but best and most happily, I saw my good pal sent off into happy matrimonial pastures. <p/> There was also in August, of course, the Mount Pleasant trip before that, the one I enjoyed but subsequently groused noisly at due to the sake of a somewhat nasty cold that afflicted me upon returning to southern Michigan. <p/> Finally, coming right up to the near-past, yesterday was the witnessing of a nearby Civil War. While the Civil War history hasn’t grabbed me yet — so far, only the number 1066 has — the re-enactment of the Battle of Chickamauga was a terrific spectacle, with the 12-pounders expelling thunder and sulfur, the Confederates howling their Rebel Yell and charging the Union’s outpost at the top of a lean hill…while a few hundred Michigan spectators sat behind a Caution ribbon on lawn chairs and blankets, gnawing on elephant ears and taking in the glorious scene. <p/> But ‘lo, here comes the end of August. There’s one more adventure to be had, however: this Thursday, some chums and me will be embarking to Minnesota to see another chum, to spend a few days out of state and enjoy the long weekend. While text-blogging will not only be avoided, but shunned completely, I’ll try to update the much-ignored moblog with several pictures a day of our Thousand Lake escapades. <p/> That’ll top it off pretty well, I think, and be the end of a very busy month. In a way, that’s too bad, but in another way, thank God: I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired as I have been for the last three days. Busy season’s right around the corner at work, so I intend to lock away the first half of September into a cozy, fireplace-lit den where there’s no phone and no knocker on the door, heavy curtains on the windows, and plenty of Woodchuck cider to drink.